All or Nothing
by TheChicaChic
Summary: A one-shot set in Cyprus after Ruth left. No OC however FFN does not have a George option for Ruth.


"Ruth."

His voice cuts through the darkness of the night, gently pulling her from the pensive thoughts she's been lost in. As she starts, she realizes over an hour has passed since she left their bed, over an hour that she's been staring out the open window into the dark waves below, thinking of _him_. And like that, guilt floods her. Forcing a smile onto her face, she pulls the thin material of George's dressing gown around her small frame tighter and turns to him.

"Hi," she says softly, fighting to push down thoughts of Ha - _him_. Standing, she shuffles towards him, left leg asleep from where she has been sitting on it. He looks tired, though her loud inner voice reminds her that he _had_ been asleep as it's the middle of the night. "Is everything alright?"

"Mmm, I should be asking that of you," he mutters, hands lifting to rub her arms comfortingly. The chill of the material is a shock, and yet it shouldn't be. This is not the first night he's awoken alone in their bed only to find her staring out over the water. She won't talk about it, but he knows she's thinking of the past.

It's somewhere that he's been, those months and years following the loss of his wife, and yet, it concerns him that her loss still so potent that it consumes hour upon hour of her life. He knows she thinks she's hiding it from him. The forced smiles, the light laughs and saying of words she thinks he wants to hear - all help clue him in that she's been thinking of her mysterious lover she's lost.

And therein adds more to his confusion.

_Lover_ - not husband.

Though they've talked very little of her past and even less of this man she lost three years prior, he does know they were not married.

Nor were they planning on marrying. They weren't partners and she'd let slip they hadn't been together all that long. So this continued mourning of love's lost is, though he feels somewhat guilty about it, beginning to exasperate him.

"You're thinking of him again." And though he doesn't mean to, his fingers tighten their grip on her arms. He wants to ask why, to beg her to give herself fully to him. To stop giving part of herself to this man who let her go. He loves her.

More than she loves him. This he knows.

And naively believed he could accept. But the sharing of their relationship with ghosts is getting old.

"I don't know what you're talking about." It's her standard response, the one she gives whenever he halfheartedly mentions it.

And normally he would let it drop, drawing her into his arms and his bed to try and eradicate any whisper of this man. Tonight though, he doesn't. He's tired. Physically.

Mentally.

And emotionally.

"Stop lying to me Ruth. You've a distant look in your eye whenever you think of him. And it's more than you think. No, stop," he says, hands pushing her back as she tries to press into him. He's not the only one who uses sex to keep from having this conversation. "Not tonight. I'm tired Ruth."

It's an admission he should have made weeks - or months - before, and as the words leave his mouth, he can feel the pressure release from his shoulders.

"Let's go to bed than," she says, lips pulling into a small but real smile, as in her mind she thinks it's past.

"Of pretending Ruth. I'm tired of pretending there isn't three people in this relationship." He sees the smile slip, and though he feels bad, it must be done. If they're to have any chance at all, she needs to let go of past realities, to realize that their love needs this to survive. She needs to choose their love. "You need to choose Ruth, choose to be in this relationship. Choose which love is most important."

With a squeeze, he pulls her close, his lips brushing her forehead before releasing her. As he steps back, he smiles, hand raising to tuck errant strands of hair behind her ear.

"I'll sleep in the spare room for now, give you some time to think, to figure out what it is you want."

And with that, he's gone down an open hallway into the room they keep fresh for when his sister stays over.

* * *

It's loneliness he feels stepping into the dark room. A constant loneliness that has been his companion in the time since that dreadful day. He tries not to think of it, to not let it eat away at the depths of whatever soul still resides in his weather-tattered body, but there are moments that the melancholy seeps through.

And for a short time, he allows himself to wallow.

Tonight will be another of those nights. He knows that. There is no fighting the thoughts that have settled upon his mind and heart, and yet, he hopes that by morning, they'll be a distant companion.

In the silence that artificially surrounds him, he shrugs off his overcoat. Toes off his shoes, laces to be fought with in the morning. And with shoulders slumped, he makes his way to his chair.

Some nights, when the silence is particularly bad, he likes to sit in the dark. To hide away any demons that fight for his soul. But tonight, for reasons unknown, he craves light.

And so, before he settles into his chair, he turns on the light. As the room is illuminated, he freezes, his breath catching between lung and air. He blinks, unsure if what is before him is real or just a nightmare. Moments pass as he stares, as his brain fully comprehends who is sitting before him. It's only as tears begin to fall down her face, catching in the smile that has lit her face, that he realizes this is in fact not real or a nightmare, but all his hopes and dreams of 3 years coming true. Finally, the silence is gone, her voice filling whatever void it's absence had left.

"Harry."


End file.
